


Spa Day

by businessboyjared



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, facials of the non-sexual variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7499190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/businessboyjared/pseuds/businessboyjared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared organizes a DIY spa day for the gang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spa Day

When Richard returns from an (almost) vomit-inducing meeting, he’s surprised to see the front room is empty. The string of computers lined up on the table are all shut down, their seats vacant. Not even Jared is there, which Richard finds especially odd, because Jared is _always_ there.

He hears water running in another room and pokes his head down the hallway.

“Hello?” He calls out.

“We’re in the kitchen!” Jared calls out, just loud enough over the water.

Richard approaches slowly, hears familiar voices chattering and the occasional clang of dishware. He rounds the corner and sees Bighead first. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, his thick hair pushed back from his forehead and underneath a plastic red headband. A few of the longer strands curl up at the end, and Richard would laugh at how silly he looks if he wasn’t so god damned confused as to what was happening.

“Oh, hey man,” Bighead nods to Richard, who looks around the kitchen with wide eyes.

It was like a tornado had blown through their kitchen—ripping cabinets open, leaving unscrewed jars of spices and half-empty bottles of random liquids on any available counter space, which Richard admits is not much to begin with. The small table in front of Bighead is covered in an assortment of fruits and vegetables, either sliced or smashed together into bowls. Richard scans his eyes over a spilled bag of sugar, a carton of mainly eggshells, and a few jars of oils that he didn’t even know existed. 

He sees Dinesh to his right, leaning against the counter while he files away at the nails on his left hand. 

“Jared thought it’d be nice for us to have a spa day,” He says, lifting an eyebrow at Richard. “But instead of, oh I don’t know, paying actual professionals to do this shit, he’s making us ‘DIY’ it. Like we’re at a fucking sleepover.”

He glares at something over Richard’s shoulder, and Richard turns around to see Jared and Erlich at the sink. Erlich is bent at the waist, head shoved into the tiny space between the faucet and the drain. Richard watches as Jared struggles to rinse what looks like mayonnaise out of Erlich’s curls.

“Jared, I swear to fucking god, if this shit doesn’t come out—” Erlich’s voice echoes from within the sink.

“It will, Erlich. I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to be patient for now. You have quite a lot of hair, I’m afraid.” Jared says. He glances around for a cup or bowl—anything to help him rinse Erlich’s hair—and catches Richard’s eye. “Richard! Would you like to join us?”

Richard flinches when Jared turns to him, his face covered in some weird green paste that’s starting to crack around the edges of his mouth and the area between his eyebrows. It makes his face look even more expressive than usual, showing his most recent emotions.

“Jesus, Jared. What the fuck is on your face?” Richard asks.

“Oh! Well, I actually purchased this at the mall… I’m not quite sure of the ingredients, but the woman that sold it to me was very convincing. The bottle is on the table, if you’d like to try some.” He gestures toward the table with his head and gets back to the task at hand, shushing Erlich when he starts to get irate at the mayo sliding into his eyes.

He eyes the bottle Jared pointed to, its lid half open and crusted over. Richard holds it to his nose and immediately regrets it, the stench too much to handle.

“C’mon, dude. Rub some shit on your face,” Bighead says, not bothering to open his eyes. “It’s actually pretty relaxing.”

He hums gently to himself, and this time Richard sees his face is covered in something that looks clear and vaguely slimy in the dim light of the kitchen.

Richard huffs out a laugh. “What the hell is that?”

Bighead shrugs and pokes at his face. Richard sees a trail of the mystery substance between Bighead’s cheek and the tip of his finger and fights the urge to gag. “I have no idea. Egg yolk, maybe? I think Jared said it would, like, highlight my pores or something. Whatever that means.”

Richard opens his mouth to respond just as Gilfoyle enters, his hair pulled back into a messy bun and his face covered in… brown sugar? Gilfoyle says nothing as he makes his way to the fridge, elbowing Dinesh out of the way as he passes. Dinesh responds with a simple “Prick,” under his breath before switching filing hands.

“Oh, Gilfoyle,” Jared says as he hands Erlich a towel. “Don’t forget—you’re supposed to rinse the scrub off after about 5 minutes. I worry you might damage your skin if it’s left for too long.”

Gilfoyle just sips his beer and squints at him. “You look like Frankenstein. Even more so than usual.” 

“Frankenstein’s monster,” Richard stops chewing the inside of his cheek long enough to interject. “Frankenstein, that was the—” Richard catches Dinesh and Gilfoyle both staring at him blankly, so he stops. He’s come to learn what that look means. 

Jared chuckles and clasps his hands together. “I suppose you’re both right!” 

“Jared,” Erlich barks, still rubbing a towel over his head. “Is all that shit out of my hair now? I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I mean seriously, what if I smell like mayonnaise all weekend? For fuck’s sake.” He huffs, shaking his hair out. 

“Of course, let me double check,” Jared murmurs, pushing Erlich’s head down just a tiny bit. Richard is immediately distracted by Jared’s (big, really soft-looking) hands combing through Erlich’s frizzy curls. For once, he kind of really wishes he was Erlich right now. He feels heat creeping up the tips of his ears and decides he needs to just sit down. He’s probably still nauseous from the meeting, is all.

He pulls up a chair next to Bighead, who is still prodding gently at his face. Richard closes his eyes, lets the sound of his friends’ voices in their kitchen-turned-spa wash over him.

\--

Richard opens his eyes, confused for a second as to why he’s at the kitchen table. It’s still covered in bottles and tubes, but more organized and cleaner than earlier. Richard hears someone playing video games in the next room.

Jared turns away from the dishes in the sink and sees Richard stretching in his seat, arching his back with his arms lifted above his head. Jared’s eyes catch a sliver of skin where his t-shirt had shifted. He looks at the table.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” He says gently, even though it still startles Richard.

“Christ... Um, no. You didn’t. Sorry I, uh, fell asleep at the table. You could have woken me up.” He scratches a hand through his hair, notices the absence of green on Jared’s face now.

“Oh we certainly tried,” Jared says as he scoops up a few containers from the table and puts them back in their respective cabinets. “Well, Gilfoyle wanted to put your hand in a bowl of warm water, although I’m still unsure as to how that would wake you. You’re a heavy sleeper.” He faces Richard and pauses for a second, scratching nervously at his ear lobe. “I’m sorry you missed out on our spa night.” 

Richard shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “That’s okay. Not really my, uh… thing. Where’d you get the idea, anyway?”

Jared sits down in Bighead’s seat from earlier. He looks at Richard so directly it almost frightens him. But before he can say anything about it, Jared’s face softens and Richard feels his shoulders relax again.

“It was something one of my foster mothers enjoyed doing. She could never afford the spas in town, so she would fashion together her own treatments from things in the house. It was fun, watching her throw together ingredients.”

Jared gestures to a bowl of something lumpy and green. Richard is suddenly reminded of the time Bighead made guacamole in their home economics class and then forgot about it in his locker for weeks. This bowl doesn’t look or smell anywhere near as bad. 

“I tried to recreate some of her concoctions, but none of them turned out right. This is just avocado and honey, but it feels…” Jared trails off, unsure of the word he’s looking for.

Richard nods weakly. It makes him feel pretty useless, but he’s not sure what to say otherwise, and he’s usually pretty good at saying the wrong thing anyway. He hopes Jared understands the sentiment behind his silence. 

“Truthfully,” Jared continues, not looking at Richard anymore, focusing instead on a few grains of sugar left on the table. He drags his finger though them. “I had also planned this for you. You seem far more stressed than normal.”

Richard laughs at that. The lightness of it makes Jared’s chest ache. 

“’More than normal’. That’s good. You’re not wrong, Jared,” He drums his fingers on the table. _What the hell,_ he thinks. _Smearing avocado on my face won’t hurt._ Richard reaches over to slide the bowl of locker guacamole in front of him. Jared resists the urge to laugh out loud when he notices Richard struggling to get started. _Do I use my hands? A spoon? Where the fuck does this even go?_ Richard stares into the goo.

“Let me,” Jared says. He adjusts his chair so they’re face-to-face. Richard feels his ears get warm again when Jared’s knees brush against his. Jared dips his hand into the bowl, scooping a generous amount of the mash onto his fingertips. He uses his left hand to push Richard’s curls away from his forehead. Richard feels his eyes close instinctively, the warm pressure of Jared’s palm on his head the only thing he can focus on. 

Until he feels a cold, chunky mess on his left cheekbone. He jerks away on instinct. 

“Sorry—” He mumbles.

“I’m sorry, Richard! I should have warned you.” They both get back into position, Jared’s hand back in Richard’s hair. Richard takes a deep breath and tries his best to relax his shoulders. “Ready?” Jared asks.

“Yeah,” Richard replies, embarrassed at how breathy his voice sounds. At first, he shuts his eyes. He feels the avocado on his cheek and temple, Jared guiding his head as he goes along. 

Jared watches Richard’s eyelids struggle to stay closed, and then they’re wide open, and Richard startles again at the unexpected eye contact. Jared huffs out an apology, his breath fanning over the bridge of Richard’s nose, now mostly covered in avocado. He tries not to think about how well the green complements Richard’s eyes. 

They were quiet for a while, Richard unsure of where to rest his gaze with Jared so close to him. After a minute of scanning the kitchen aimlessly, his eyes fall on Jared’s forehead. _That’s a safe area,_ Richard thinks. _His skin looks really soft. Maybe it was that green stuff? And he’s got a few gray hairs coming in at his temples... Jesus, his eyelashes are really long…_ Richard takes a deep breath and forces his brain to shut the hell up.

Jared pulls back and smiles at Richard. “All done! You’ll just leave this on for about 10 minutes, or until you’re ready to rinse it off.” 

Richard nods absentmindedly, and thanks whatever god there is that nobody can hear his thoughts. Especially when he watches Jared lick the remaining avocado from his fingers.

Jared catches his eye and immediately turns red. “That was unsanitary a-and… gross. I’m sorry, I should have just used a towel… Gosh, I’m embarrassed— “

Richard laughs and scrapes a bit of the mask from his cheek, popping it in his mouth. Jared beams at him, and Richard thinks that maybe everyday should be a spa day.

**Author's Note:**

> :-)  
> talk to me about these dumb nerds on the blue hell site: businessboyjared.tumblr.com


End file.
